Lost in the Nothingness
by Jennkei
Summary: [After OoTP] An attempt by Voldemort to transfer his bond with Harry to Draco leads to an accidental link between the three, even while the slow conversion of Sirius, one borne of a desperate loneliness, begins.


**Chapter One: Memories, light the corners of my mind...**

"Memories, light the corners of my mind,

Misty watercolour memories,

Of the way we were."

_-The Way We Were_

_

* * *

Dear Albus,_

_I tried to get him away to Rialle, but I can't, he's coming back. I don't know how, or why. Please take care of him for me. Thank you._

_Love, forever,_

_Your _-The ink is smeared at this point, rendering any further marks on the worn parchment illegible. -

Albus Dumbledore frowned thoughtfully as he smoothed over the parchment with a hand. Beside him, the Book detailing every magical student lay open, as a nondescript post owl made its way out of the window, into the night air once more.

* * *

Remus frowned as he strolled slowly and aimlessly past a row of apartments, absently sidestepping a stray stone. The streets were empty, illuminated only by the dim streetlights and the lights from the Muggle apartments Remus had just passed.

He raised his head as he heard the faint echoes of children laughing and singing, revelling in the seasonal delights. The sole purpose of his weekly excursions to Muggle London had been to extricate his mind, for however brief a moment, from the mess that was his life. But this wasn't working. Not like it had done the past few times.

The Muggle world was a distraction, yes, but it had never really interested him. Come to think of it, he had started doing this because of Sirius. Sirius, who had so loved his freedom. Sirius... The stab of pain was almost tangible as the thoughts he had forcibly blocked out for two months once again surged forth.

Sirius, in fifth year, creeping up behind him to transfigure the DADA textbook he had been studying into a lupine flower, his ebony eyes twinkling, dragging a reluctant Remus out of the library and singing at the top of his voice about what a beautiful day it was...

Sirius, playfully flirting with Lily at the Yule Ball just to infuriate James...

Sirius at James's wedding, the best man, looking from Lily to James as they said their vows, his expression unreadable...

Sirius, and how... different he had looked, the first time Remus had seen him since his escape from Azkaban... and Sirius, the look on his face, the look that plainly said he wasn't finished; so indignant - so _Sirius _- as he fell ever so slowly, as though the moment had been earmarked by the Gods, through the veil... and Remus stood alone as time suddenly sped up again, realising that he was holding a struggling Harry.

Then it all stopped.

As suddenly as it began, the flood of memories ceased, and there was nothing more. A Muggle psychiatrist would probably have told Remus, with a worried frown, that these effects were due to the block in his mind he had of memories about Sirius, and that indeed, that there were many other blocks, memories frozen right at that instant of time, like insects trapped in amber, not allowed, not _wanted_, to be acknowledged.

But it was not as if Remus did not know this. He knew, of course he knew, but at this moment he could not care less about it. His feet had slowed down with the rapid onslaught of his memories, and Remus now halted and leaned against a lone lamppost.

His shoulders shook as he quietly cried, grieving the loss of his dear friend as he could not have done in public. Upon Harry's insistence, there had been no funeral in absentia for Sirius; Harry firmly held to his delusion that Sirius wasn't, indeed, dead.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a part of Remus contemplated this with an almost detached air, as his other self sobbed uncontrollably; it was this part of him that was startled into motion a split second later, as he felt something strange tug at the edge of his senses, something familiar, yet definitely out of place here. Magic.

Remus leaned against the lamppost for a moment, blinking a little at the warm golden rays the light above him flung on the pavement. Then he seemed to make up his mind and pushed off from the lamppost, holding his wand concealed under his heavy trench coat.

He concentrated for a moment, and set off resolutely in one direction, towards one of the more unsavoury Muggle establishments in the neighbourhood. Again, he felt that almost _audible_ sense of Magic, and wondered who would be so bold as to release such a large amount of power, here.

He halted at the mouth of an ominous-looking alley. There was a very, very faint sound teetering on the edge of his senses, and it was only Remus's keen hearing that allowed him to catch it. Hesitating for a moment, then shaking his head and muttering a simple shield spell under his breath to notify and protect him from anyone with evil intentions lurking about, he edged along the wall until he reached an empty square, in the middle of the concrete jungle.

Frowning, Remus quickly scanned the space, and on his second pass he realized someone was standing in the center of the square, very still, in front of an ancient monolithic structure . Someone hooded, and rather slight. Remus was faintly disturbed; he should have seen - or smelt - whoever it was, but just then he realised there were a great many others; all hooded, standing in a rough ellipse around the slight figure.

Remus blinked. He started to retreat, but the figure seemed to be shaking his head, and Remus was somehow compelled to look. A very soft voice issued from the figure, "No, no...you won't..."

The head lifted slightly and as the hood fell back Remus caught a glimpse of an intense violet, noting almost detachedly that there were streaks of tears on the face. The figure looked up more fully, and met his gaze, eyes widening imperceptibly, then narrowing with what could only be suspicion, only to grow large again in confusion as he looked down towards something at the side of his feet.

Remus saw a crumpled figure on the floor, garbed in dark robes, for just an instant before it disappeared, and the circle of hooded unknowns faded as if into thin air. When he looked up, incredulous, his gaze met and held the figure's, who was still looking at him with thinly veiled confusion.

"R...Romulus...?" The voice was clear, filled with an almost musical quality. Remus lunged forward almost instinctively, just in time to catch the figure as it fell and the soft tones of the next words died in the quiet stillness,

"Ash...ke...?"

* * *

Harry Potter sat on his bed at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, thinking, as he had been doing for practically the whole of the holidays. Yet nothing substantial came to mind. He had been getting letters, yes, from Hermione, from Ron, even from people he hardly knew. Yet none of them mattered. One pair of eyes had been mocking him in his dreams this whole time, and he was starting to despair. Was there some evil influence lurking within his mind? Harry would _not_ be controlled again, but perhaps he could not help it, if the fixtures were already in place.

And Sirius. Lupin had sent a letter to him that had almost made him cry. Almost. He had sounded so...final. Like he had lost all hope. So detached. Harry always wondered how Lupin could live that way - like there were two separate halves of him, one of which he always pushed to the side.

Oh, no one thought he noticed, poor lil' Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Hero who would Save The World, but he really was more perceptive than others gave him credit for. What Lupin was doing was dangerous...he could feel it.

Yet what could he do about it? He snorted. It didn't matter, anyway; _he_ had not given up hope. Harry had firmly put down his foot on Lupin's gentle request that a funeral be held in Sirius's honour and memory, and dumped all the cards that so obviously had "Our Condolences" printed all over into the bottom of his chest. How could they all be thus fooled? It was unthinkable. _They_ were the deluded ones.

He shook his head. One more day, and he would be waiting at platform 9 and ¾ for Hermione and Ron and everyone else. Back at Hogwarts. It was quite surprising, but the Dursleys had been rather civil to him. Harry had not even known that particular word even existed in the Dursley Lexicon.

It seemed that Mad-Eye Moody and his "roving" eye had had the desired effect; Dudley had even apologized and thanked Harry (albeit looking extremely discomfited while doing so) for saving his life, though he still refused to say a word about the Dementors.

Harry still lived at his tiny bedroom, though he didn't quite mind. For one, the lack of space meant that he could hardly be untidy, and he'd found that it had been easier to pack this year, probably because he could take his time with it. He had not quite figured out Tonks's method of stuffing things by the end of last year, what with the dreams and OWLs, but the menial work, so simple and mechanical, gave him more time to think. He sat on his bed after he had finished, wondering whether he had left out anything.

"Oh yes, how could I forget that?" Snapping his fingers, he reached across his chest to the dimly lit writing table and lifted a stack of letters off it. Grinning, he reread the first one, then turned it over to gently stroke the embossed official Hogwarts crest - he couldn't wait to be back.

* * *

Remus sat in a stiff-backed chair that had surprisingly comfortable cushions beside the bed, silent. He had noted the high-polished parquet floor, the darkly serious mahogany and cherrywood decoration of the room, the rather large four-poster bed, the curious little porcelain figurines, and exotic knitted rugs with the first step into the room.

He had raised an eyebrow, but he had not asked, and Dumbledore had not offered an explanation. Dumbledore - who now sat in another chair at the edge of his peripheral vision.

Then he turned to look back at the slight figure on the bed. The child looked thin and drawn, as though his worries were present even through slumber. Somewhat drily, Remus thought that he must take on the same appearance of worry in _his_ sleep. Yet there was an imperceptible glow around the child – Flawless skin (_A whisper... skin that would bruise so easily_), strong fingers (_The fingers of a musician, adept at his craft_), a faint flush across high cheekbones… And those eyes, those violet eyes that Remus remembered all too well...

A soft question from Dumbledore released him from his reverie, and he looked up.

"Remus?"

"Albus."

"You haven't spoken a word since you brought that boy in here." A pause. "You don't have any questions?"

Remus's only reply was to close his eyes and bury his face in his hands.

"Remus? Was it..."

Remus could only nod wordlessly. "Don't ask." His voice was harsh but muffled. Silence again descended over the room, an almost-palpable shroud.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Dumbledore again spoke up. "Where did you find him?"

Remus sighed, resting his fingers lightly upon his temples, and looked up at Dumbledore through half-lidded eyes. "Would you believe me...?"

Gently, "Remus, you know that I've always believed you, and in you."

Remus shook his head in despair. "I don't know, I could have been imagining it...you know what was happening then. I'm afraid that..." Dumbledore sat still, waiting patiently for him to continue. "Headmaster...am I going crazy?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "I know it has been hard for you, Remus. The recent events...and, not as far as I know, no, you aren't."

Remus didn't seem convinced. "There have been other things...but, as for the boy, I found him in an alley. In Muggle London. It was a surprisingly large space, surrounded by several dilapidated high-rise apartments. I didn't see him at first. I only had this _feeling_ that Magic was being Worked. Then he seemed to...appear. There was a circle of people in cloaks around him, and someone at his feet, I don't know who...and then the rest disappeared, he called me Romlus or something and collapsed. I brought him to you immediately. The shields had..." He turned to the child on the bed, who was starting to stir.

Both men sat up as the child's eyelids fluttered slightly. As they opened, Remus could see there was something very like fear in the violet depths, which scanned the room, or as much of what can be seen from the prone position, once, then looked from Dumbledore to Remus, widening.

"Steelfrost? Alsh'na'el?" Addressed to Dumbledore, then slightly incredulously to Remus, "Romulus? Gh'rae...Laerth?"

* * *

He looked around the room, or more at the silver canopy of the considerably large and comfortable bed he was on. He felt extremely disoriented, and more than a bit dizzy...yet a hummed note under his breath revealed that his "shields" were still intact, which probably meant that he wasn't in the hands of the Enemy...wait.

What...Enemy? He tried to think, to remember, but even though his senses were fine his mind seemed...all confused. Well, he could feel, indeed, and he could definitely see...by now the two...men? who sat beside his bed were staring at him.

Before he could stop himself, he heard himself saying, in amazement, "Steelfrost? Alsh'na'el?" then, "Romulus? Gh'rae...Laerth?"

A bubble of excitement was threatening to break out at any moment...was that _Steelfrost_, there? It couldn't be – Steelfrost had died one winter back, in a tragic potions accident. Indeed, as he composed himself he realised that the man just looked startlingly like Steelfrost, but the former did not have the latter's laugh lines, and the look in the man's eyes was...haunted, somehow.

Steelfrost had always been frank and straightforward...he had learned to live with his honest face, not blaming it for its inability to cloak any emotion like so many who ended up bitter and with conflicting facial expressions did. Everyone, even a child, could read him like a book, and it was a good thing he was not in the habit of employing subtlety.

He smiled as he remembered, but the sad slight upcurving of lips faded as he moved his gaze to the other man. It could not be...yet it was. He knew he was staring, but that man really looked like Romulus...even more than Steelfrost/whoever the man with the beard was. Oh, he knew it wasn't, not really, since he could _feel_ the void deep, deep in his heart. It was there for a reason (he could not remember what). But no matter. He knew this was not Romulus.

The man spoke up, strangled voice loud in the silence, golden eyes confused by the intent in the violet ones that inspected him. "You...remind me of someone."

He was confused for a moment. This was not Tayledras...but he knew it, somehow. He closed his eyes for a moment. Yes. How could he say, how could he explain the extent of which he was..reminded..too? Of days, of nights, laughter, anger, arms going around him in a gentle embrace...

He opened his eyes when "Steelfrost" spoke, and was not surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice. "Who are you?"

Who was he, indeed? A name...but he knew the one which seemed most familiar was not the only one.

Still, he was surprised when words, a whisper of their own volition, passed his lips. "Before...or after?" "Romulus" had turned away, expression unreadable.

He was relieved when the other man seemed to understand and gently said, "What do you think of yourself as?"

He answered, then, "My name...I am Devyn To'rialle. Where...where am I? Sapphirazura...was there anything found with me?"

"Well, Devyn, is that it? I am Albus Dumbledore. I received word that you would come. "

The other man looked a bit surprised at the words, but seemed to shrug. "Remus Lupin. I found a satchel at your feet.."

Devyn's eyes brightened as a tattered book bag was lifted from just under the chair and placed gently on his bed. Before he could lay eager hands on it, though, Dumbledore withdrew a piece of parchment from the voluminous sleeves of his robes and passed it to Lupin. "Remus...if you would? I've prepared a list of things Devyn will need at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts, Albus?"

"Indeed, Remus. Devyn's story is no doubt complicated, but he was once a student here, and he is going to return as a student. Such as it is written in the Book," Dumbledore replied firmly.

As if as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, and Remus, if you'd kindly consider the request I put to you the last time we spoke?"

Lupin nodded, once, then with a last glance at Devyn crossed the room to the large oak doors, exiting quietly.

As the faint echo of the doors closing rang through the room, Dumbledore spoke up, quietly, "You knew him...in the other, did you not?"

Devyn turned, removing his gaze from the door to look, slightly surprised, at Dumbledore. Their exchange had reminded him, both of "reality" and what had transpired. The memories of Hogwarts and Wizarding London, or rather an apartment in Wizarding London, were becoming clearer, but it seemed that the others he had, of Rialle, of Romulus, Steelfrost, Danielle...he tried to capture them, but they were starting to be as formless as mist. Had his longing been so evident? Devyn wasn't sure, yet he looked hard at Dumbledore, and seemed to see a flash of Steelfrost's trustworthiness for just a moment.

When he didn't answer, Dumbledore spoke again, this time so quietly it was almost a whisper. "And...you knew me too, did you not?"

At this, Devyn shook his head and replied, "No, I knew people who look like you, Sir, and Mr. Lupin, but you are not the same people."

Dumbledore smiled, an unexpected smile, "And that is the whole of it. Or the whole of what I was told, in any case. You'll have to tell me the rest." Dumbledore turned to look at Devyn through half-moon spectacles, now serious.

A pause, then Dumbledore "felt" a tentative -voice- in his mind. It whispered, _:Can I trust you:_

And Dumbledore returned, a simple, _:Yes.:_

**_

* * *

A/N: Why does Remus keep referring to him as "the child"? Devyn is obviously old enough to be warranted as a "young man" instead, isn't he. Hm...and did he forget something in his account to Dumbledore? As we continue on…_**

Translations from Mercedes Lackey's Tayledras, which I've employed slightly in this chapter, are below:-

**Ashke** – Beloved

**Alsh'na'el – **Directly translated, soulfather; interpreted to be mentor, father in every way but biologically.

**Ghrae **– You are

**Laerth – **Darkness, but Devyn's "Ghrae…Laerth" is more accurate translated thus – "You are…but, what about Laerth?"


End file.
